


Sheltering from the Storm

by SonicoSenpai



Series: Various Lamento One-Shots [1]
Category: Lamento -BEYOND THE VOID-
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Winter, Alternative Perspective, Cat Ears, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Snowed In, Tails, blizzard, dub-con trying to be con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 14:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonicoSenpai/pseuds/SonicoSenpai
Summary: Rai is headed home from university for the winter holidays and has waited just a little bit too long to leave. A heavy blizzard has hit Setsura, making even this long-haired, well-prepared traveler take cover in a small snow shelter, waiting for the worst to pass. Said shelter is already occupied by a nearly frozen, very small cat, whom he helps out.This one-shot is told from Rai’s perspective.Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all my regular readers, as well as anyone else checking out my trash. :)





	Sheltering from the Storm

The blizzard was in the forecast, and I left the dorm a little later than I planned. Plus, nearly eighteen inches of snow was piled up on the ground when I got on my way, so I knew I probably wouldn’t make it to my destination. 

I was prepared, of course—as a long-haired breed from Setsura, I don’t have much to worry about. But in addition to my usual winter coat—my hair and fur fills in with a soft underlayer of downy fur than wicks moisture away and keeps cold from my skin—I am wearing waterproof boots, extra layers of socks, and bring a few supplies with me, just in case I get stuck in particularly blinding snowfall. 

While I was prepared for these things—I even brought some high energy snacks along, flint to start a fire, and I made sure I knew where all the shelters along are located—there were a few things about my trip back to the old man’s I wasn’t expecting.

First, was the torrential blizzard, of course.

Second, was finding a shivering, tiny waif of a cat, soaked to the bone in front of a pathetic attempt of a starting a fire. I decide to tend to him as soon as I get the fire roaring. There’s no sense in both of us freezing to death.

I didn’t even see him when I first walked in—nor did he have any scent other than the snow and ice coating his body. But once the fire got going, I heard a small, pained groan. That’s normal—if he’s as cold as he looks.

Frostbite hurts like a motherfucker once you start to thaw, and he must have fallen asleep. If I hadn’t happened upon him, he probably would have died. I can think about that later, but for now, I have to see to his care. 

I’ve already stripped off my wet clothing—and only my outer layers are wet, of course. But this cat is in terrible shape. He’s tiny—at first, I mistook him for a child—but his hips don’t feel like a child’s though he weighs next to nothing when I move him closer to the fire.

He moans in pain when I move him, his back to the warmth of the fireplace, and he’s shivering all over, his fur bristled and wet, still covered in pieces of ice, dripping down his face and body in cold streams of water. His fur and hair look white because of all the ice hanging off of him. He's definitely a short-haired breed, and not from this area, based on his petite stature. What is he doing out here, during this time of year and alone?

“Oi!” I rub his sternum to keep him conscious. He cannot go to sleep until he is warm and dry. Hypothermia is a real thing, and I don’t want to have to explain a dead body—especially not one so young—to the local sheriff. Plus, the idea of spending the night in the shelter with one doesn’t appeal to me. “Can you hear me? What’s your name?”

I’m rubbing hard like I learned to do in first aid, and he is fighting me off, weakly. It’s a good thing. His eyes open slowly—and I’m stunned. Golden eyes—very large—framed with dark lashes—meet mine almost fearfully. He is confused, naturally. 

“K-k-Konoe.” His voice is soft and almost magical—I’ve never heard a voice like his, and I will never forget the first time I hear him speak.

“Konoe, I am Rai. If you stay the way you are, you are going to freeze to death. I’m going to get you warm. It may hurt, but it will keep you alive, and soon, it will feel better and you can sleep. Talk to me. Where are you from?” 

“K-k-Karou.”

“Ah, I see, pretty far south. You get some snow, but not storms like this,” I say. “I’m going to remove your clothes. We have to get your skin dry and warm to increase your body temperature. Do you understand?”

“N-no—wait,” he protests, but I start removing his shoes. Tennis shoes. Who the hell wears tennis shoes in a snowstorm? I peel off his soaked socks and spread out both by the fire. I check each of his toes for frostbite. They are very red and swollen—and frighteningly cold to the touch—but thankfully, they show no signs of serious injury or permanent damage.

“What’s the problem?”

“I-I h-have always l-lived alone,” he explains, as this explains anything at all.

“We are both males here. You will be fine.” 

"P-Please d-d-don’t h-hurt m-me.” I hear his teeth chattering and I think I hear tears in his tone. What on earth has this kitten been through?

“As soon as your wet clothes are off, I’ll give you something dry to wear, okay?” That’s not exactly true, though—seeing how cold he is, I may need to provide some skin-to-skin contact to warm him up further. He is a tiny little thing. And gods, the more that voice sinks into my ear, the more I want to hear him speak. “Are you a college student?”

“N-no,” he answers. “I-I a-am l-l-looking for s-someone.”

“Well, this was the wrong day to go out,” I say, trying to keep my voice soft. Truthfully, I am afraid. I am afraid I will lose him, and I want him to keep talking. 

“Y-yes. I-I did n-not know a-about the w-weather h-here,” the poor kitten’s teeth are still chattering.

“Listen, I know this may be uncomfortable for you, but I have to get these wet clothes off your skin so you can dry off and warm up, all right? Just bear with it.” Usually, I wouldn’t be talking to a child in this tone of voice, but this cat seems so fragile. My fingers hesitate at the buttons at his coat, even though I know it’s for his own good—it could be a matter of life and death, even.

It must be something in the tone of his voice. I know I haven’t softened with age.

“Please,” he urges once again. “P-please d-don’t h-hurt m-me.” He is able to move his arm enough to rest his hand lightly on my own.

“I said I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t do anything to hurt you.” Why is he so afraid? I hesitate slightly, but even a little delay could harm him. I don’t know how long he’s been in here, and we have to raise his body temperature now. I quickly unbutton his coat and strip it off, throwing it out flat on the floor for now.

Underneath his coat, he is wearing a simple long-sleeved shirt—not nearly enough for the layers required for this sort of weather. It too is soaked through completely.

I pull it off over his head, and he resists, half-heartedly. At least he’s wearing an undershirt underneath, but it’s soaked as well.

“Konoe, your body temperature is dangerously low,” I  repeat. “We need to get you dry and then warm. Do you understand?” 

When he glances up at me, those golden eyes shine with shameful tears that pull at something in my heart. He really looks upset. I pull off his undershirt, over his head, and he covers his chest—but then I notice it isn’t his narrow chest he is trying to hide. It’s his arms. 

His forearms are covered with black markings, like tattoos—and they look almost alive under the low light of the fire. They appear to squirm and wiggle like worms or snakes all the way from his elbow to his wrists—the black ink sinking into his body. Their movement must be an illusion caused by the flickering of the flames. I try not to stare, but it’s hard not to. 

“Please—d-don’t make me leave this place. I will die out there, in the snow. I have nowhere else to go.” His chattering teeth have calmed.

“What?” The word falls from my lips. I was fascinated by their beauty, actually. I’d never ask anyone to leave the shelter in a storm like this. I simply stare, somewhat horrified he’d suggest such a thing.

“I was forced from my home, beaten by members of my own village,” he turns away from me, his voice breaking. As he turns, I see a fresh purple bruise on his side. It looks painful. 

“Have you not always had these markings?”

“No. I simply woke up with them a few days ago—and my fur was changed to this color. I was told there was a sorcerer here at the university who might be able to help me. I had no choice to leave when I did, since I was chased away, called cursed.”

“I see.” I move to remove his belt, looking at his hands. His fingers are blue and purple and terribly swollen—he cannot undress himself. He looks up at me, alarmed. “I will not hurt you. It’s not like you asked for this, is it?”

“Um, no,” he says, quietly. “But... aren’t you afraid of me?”

“No. Why should I be? It’s not like I’ve disappeared because I came close to you. Are you planning to kill me in my sleep?”

That earns me a small smile, which vanishes as soon as remove his belt. I work a little more slowly, so as not to intimidate him. 

“Remember, all your damp clothes have to come off, or you will not get dry and warm. I have no ulterior motive.” I say the words to comfort him, but the more of him I see, the more I realize I may be telling him what he needs to hear. He’s got an awfully attractive body. 

He can’t really move and so he submits, looking away. Mean bruises run down the length of his hips, his lower back, his buttocks—what has been done to this cat? And I gently work off his jeans, which are soaked through. His skin underneath is pale and ice cold to the touch, and he shivers. 

I end up pulling his jeans inside out—he is very slim, except for his hips and ass, which are quite shapely—both his ankles have similar markings as his wrists—it must be a curse. I wonder if it’s painful. Despite myself, I find my finger running over one of the markings on his ankle, while he watches me. Slightly embarrassed by my own action, I move him closer to the fire.

“N-no, please,” he protests again softly. Strangely, he didn’t protest my touch—but the movement of his body. 

“You will get much warmer, much faster,” I advise. 

He looks down at his swollen, blue fingers. 

“I...” he hesitates. Then he sighs and looks up to meet my gaze. “I am afraid of fire.” 

“Ah, I see.” It’s not an uncommon fear—or wasn’t for our ancestors. But now that we cook with fire, it’s become less and less common. Standing up, I walk over to my pack and pull out a handkerchief and a small towel. “This should help you. Do you trust me? You will only need to wear it until you are warm.” 

He cocks his head to the side. His hair is a soft, pale blonde, and surprisingly, the short fur on his ears and tail is thick and black. It’s an odd combination—not unattractive, but odd. Black cats are rare, and his coloring is much too pale for a black cat. His golden eyes reflect copper in the firelight, and I hesitate to use a blindfold to cover them up. I won’t be able to admire them—the lovely molten gold color.

“What are you going to do with that?” the kitten asks, suspiciously.

I gently cover his eyes and tie it around his head. 

“You can remove it anytime yourself. But you may be more comfortable if you can’t see the flames.” 

His hand gently touches his covered eyes—and a strange desire shoots through my body—not just into my hips, but into my heart, too. Seeing that helplessness, that small little action, and him deciding to trust me—there is something about this cat that is special, I think.

I try moving him closer to the fire, and he is more comfortable now.

“Is that better?” I ask. 

He nods his head. 

“I’m going to finish undressing you now,” I say.

“This isn’t enough? Won’t my... the rest of my clothes dry soon enough?” I smile a little to think he hesitates to say the word “underwear” in front of me.

“Don’t worry. You can wear a towel till your skin is dry, and my shirt after that until your own clothes are dry. It should be long enough to cover everything. But we really want to warm and dry first. Plus, you can’t see anything, so as far as you know, I can’t either.”

His hands suddenly reach out toward my face—not nearly as clumsily as I expect—and I feel his chilly fingers on my cheeks and creeping up toward my eye patch. 

“Ah, you can only see me with one eye, after all. Is it an old injury?” he asks softly. His voice is so gentle and sweet—hypnotizing—that I hear myself answering.

“I was injured by a bounty I was chasing,” I reply, surprised at myself. I hadn’t intended to answer, really—it just came out.

“A bounty?” The kitten’s hands freeze but do not pull away. “You are a bounty hunter.”

“I am. Well, I was.” 

“Did you catch this prey?” His head cocks to the side slightly, a curious mannerism,and one I can’t refuse. 

“I didn’t. It was a demon. Many other hunters had tried to take him down and all had failed. I was just starting then, and I let my pride dictate where and what I hunted. I took both its eyes in exchange for one of mine. He escaped while I was injured. It’s a worthless story.”

“No,” he replies. “Not worthless. For it comforts me, to a degree, in my ridiculous shyness at being nude in front of others.” A soft smile appears on his face—and I realize then that I find this cat rather enchanting, if not downright beautiful.

“I will not hurt you,” I repeat, handing him the towel. “But I will remove the rest of your clothes now.”

Once he is nude, I help him dry himself—that fur of his is way thicker and plusher than it looks, and it needs a good grooming. I feel saliva building up in my mouth—the inky black color is quite enticing. He does appear to have a winter coat, too—a downy layer underneath the short fur, making it even denser. But it wouldn’t serve much for weather like this.

His face is still sweetly facing mine. With his eyes covered, I notice he also has extremely full lips, his fangs peeking out slightly over his bottom lip just a little. While his cheeks are full, he has defined cheekbones and an adorable nose. His ears, though—there’s nothing small about those ears. They are huge—right in proportion to his eyes, in fact. The skin of his ears looks very thin and delicate. They twitch to every crackle and hiss of the fire, as well as desperately trying to track my movement. He’s having a very hard time trying to relax. 

“How old are you?” I ask, really only in the attempt to keep him talking. 

“I’m nearly 18,” he says quietly, almost as though he is ashamed. “And you?” 

“Not much older than you. I’m 22.” His ears perk up in surprise—and they are very expressive and terribly cute. I rather enjoy watching them. His tail twitches as well—in tandem with his ears—and I notice a strange hook at the end. I refrain from touching it, however—not until I dry it with the towel. 

“I’ve never seen a tail shaped like yours.” I caress the tip with my claws after running the towel through his damp fur, and a shudder entirely unlike his earlier shivering rushes through the kitten’s body, from the tip of his ears to the tip of that tail, ruffling out his fur, bristling it, making me want to lick it in the worst way. Also, a tiny sound comes out of his mouth—like a sigh—and it makes my own fur bristle and my fangs bare. Thank the gods he can’t see me—he’d be scared shitless! And that makes me realize: he can feel in the tip!

“Oh—yeah,” he blushes, also terribly cutely, looking down and clearly ashamed. He must not have much experience if he’s been on his own for so long. Although, at his age, he must have at least one mating season behind him. Unless he’s a very late bloomer?

I strip off my own shirt—it’s a long-sleeved shirt I use to layer—and I pull it on over his head. It reaches down to his mid-thighs.

“There we go.”

“Warm,” he murmurs. “It smells nice, too.” 

What a weird thing to say—though I think he smells pretty good, too.

“Let’s get you warmed up a little more, now that you’re dry. I’ve got a blanket in here.”

“You come prepared, don’t you?” His voice sounds somewhat amazed.

“I do, in fact.” 

“Are you from the area?” 

“Yes, born and bred, but I have traveled around a lot. I’m back again at the university for education.” 

“I see.” 

“Are you hungry?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to share your food with me,” he sounds very sad all of the sudden.

“Why? I brought extra for just such an occasion. I have dried fruit and nuts. Perhaps I can make a pot of tea or coffee? That would help warm you up.”

“Um, food is so precious,” Konoe casts his eyes down. 

“Not around here. Are you from a shortage area? I have plenty to share.” I spread my blanket over his still slightly shivering body, and I search around for a teapot to place over the fire. They usually have one in shelters such as these. I pull out my snacks and bring them over. “Help yourself.”

“Th-Thank you,” he says. I realize he can’t see as soon as I hand him the bag.

“I forgot about the blindfold,” I say, smiling. “I have a few tree nuts,” I press one into his hand, and those fingers are still so cold, “and some dried fruit.”

“Any kuims?” he asks, those huge ears perking up like giant batwings on his head.

I press a dried kuim into his other hand, and then ready the tea. I sweeten it with sugar and honey—he can use all the calories he can get. I let mine cool and bring his mug over to where he is huddled in my blanket and tee shirt. He sips his tea blindfolded, warming his hands.

We eat and drink in silence—I enjoy my food, and the kitten wolfs his meal down like he hasn’t eaten in a week or more. It’s possible he hasn’t. I try not to think of his skinny rib cage or the feel of his light weight in my arms. Why is his presence affecting me like this?

“There is plenty to eat,” I say. “In fact, I’m headed to my old man’s once the storm dies down. He’s a great cook. Want to join me? He’ll put some meat on your bones.” 

“Ah—really?” He perks up his ears suddenly, only to drop then exaggeratedly right afterward. “I have to find that sorcerer,” Konoe replies.

“The university closes for the holiday,” I say. “He most likely is away himself, so he doesn’t get snowed in. I’ll come back with you if you like. It’s on my way anyway.” I never do this—solicit my help to others, especially needy creatures like this one surely is, but I feel drawn to him. I can’t help it.

“Oh. Well, I don’t want to hold you back or anything,” Konoe says.

“You wouldn’t,” I insist. Am I being too forward? Perhaps I am frightening him. “How are you feeling?” I walk closer and put my hands on his ears, checking his temperature. His ears immediately flick down in surprise. He didn’t hear me approach, I suppose. I am used to moving silently and should make more noise if he is blindfolded. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You make almost no sound at all,” Konoe marvels, “especially for such a big cat.” 

I’m almost offended.

“I’m not a big cat.” 

“Oh—I apologize. The cats in my village—they are all close to my size. I’ve never seen a cat as big as you before. Are all cats in Setsura as big as you, then?”

I think about this for a moment. He _is_ full grown, then? Are their houses very small? How cute would that be!

“I am about average, I guess. Some are larger. Do the cats in your village have ears shaped like yours, too? And short fur?” 

“Oh—short fur, yes. And ears? What is wrong with my ears?” He touches them for a moment. I reach out for his hands and put them on my head, crouching down. He gasps. “Yours are so small and cute—especially for a cat as big as you!”

“Cute?” I ask. Again, should I be offended? I don’t really _feel_ offended, not if a cute cat is calling me cute. It’s kind of sweet. 

“They are much thicker, though—and your fur—it’s so long and soft and silky. It’s much better for cold weather. And it’s dry already. Mine is still not dry.”

“Do you want me to help you? I am worried you’re still pretty cold,” I say. “Plus, night is falling and the temperature is going to fall right along with it.” 

“It will get even colder?” Konoe sounds nervous.

“See, during winter, we share beds in Setsura. And in your case, skin-to-skin contact might be best for you, if a warm meal didn’t help you.”

“Skin to...?” He is obviously terribly embarrassed again, his cheeks blushing red—whether from cold or from embarrassment—either way, the blood is running through them, so that’s good.

I start stripping off my dry clothes, making lots of noise, and his ears and tail twitch like crazy.

“Ah—is this a good idea?”

“It’s the only way to stay warm on a night like this. Trust me,” I say easily—keeping my voice calm, but my heart is pounding in my ears. I search around in the shelter a little more, finding a second blanket, slightly scratchy. 

I spread it out on the floor, closer still to the fire, and add a little more wood to the fireplace to warm up the shelter. I’m stripped down to my underwear but consider stripping them off as well—although, that may end up being a bad idea. I’m wearing longjohns, and I want as much of my skin touching his—my legs are going to warm his body from behind, I think. 

 _Fuck it. Let’s do this_. I strip off my underwear, too. Then I lie down on the blanket.

Trying not to pay attention to how cute he is, I pull him over toward me, and he is still dressed in my shirt. Kind of the ideal partner, I think—his scent is sweet, like honey and orange blossom—now that all the snow and ice has thawed—and he smells slightly like kuim as well. He’s much more appealing than the college coed with whom I shared my last season.

I want him comfortable, so I turn him away from the fireplace, pull his body close to mine—his skin is still freezing—and remove his blindfold.

“I want you to feel safe,” I say quietly, unintentionally directly in his ear as I’m untying his blindfold. “I think if you face this way, you’ll face away from the flames and still have the blankets both below and above you, and my body behind you.”

“So... this skin to, um, skin thing—do we absolutely _have_ to do this?” he asks shyly. 

There’s no way I’m backing down now—honestly, even if his temperature was fine I’d want to share his body heat anyway, just to touch him and stay cozy. The way he asked that just now was too fucking adorable.

“Yes,” I say firmly, stroking his hair softly. “I will help dry your fur, too.”

“Do you have another towel?” Fiery golden eyes stare up into mine, as he glances up over his shoulder at me, almost frightened.

“Nope. I’ll groom them for you.”

“That—that’s not going to work,” Konoe protests, leaning on his elbow, turning around to look at me more directly, and then staring right at my chest. He doesn’t let his eyes drop any lower, though. I think he has suddenly realized there isn’t much between us. “Where is your shirt?”

“Right here,” I pull at the collar of the shirt on his body, and he gasps quietly. 

“I’ve been wearing your shirt this entire time? Aren’t you cold?” 

He puts his cold hands on my chest for just a moment, and a soft gasp escapes his mouth. I shiver when his hands touch me.

“Why are you so warm?”

“It’s not that I’m so warm, it’s that your body is still freezing. So, trust me.” I lift up his hands for a moment and pull his shirt off over his head, pulling his body up against mine. I pop his fingers into my mouth, one at a time, licking them gently. I don’t use much saliva—just a little bit—and once finished, I use his hands to groom my own long hair which is heating in front of the fire. 

Once I finish his left hand, I do the right, and then I repeat the process, glancing at his face. He is watching me, obviously very embarrassed, but it must feel nice because he doesn’t pull away. His fingers aren’t like a child’s—they are a delicate and small, but calloused from holding a blade with his right hand, I can see. I find them attractive, too. Much of the swelling has gone down, it seems. 

“Your tongue is very different from mine.”

“Is it?” 

“Doesn’t it get hot in Setsura in the summer?” he asks. 

“Ah, it gets warm, but not sweltering.”

“Oh. In Karou, we’d have sweltering summer heat, humid heat.” Thinking of that—spending a sweltering summer night with this kitten—seems rather enjoyable to me. “So, maybe between that and the density of my fur? See?”

My hand is grabbed, and he pops a finger in my mouth. The sudden action surprises me, as does his boldness—especially after all his shy behavior up to now. Then—when my right index finger sinks into his soft, supple mouth, it’s surrounded by a wet, smooth tongue—much smoother and smaller than mine. It feels slick like it has almost no texture at all—very unlike my own tongue—and it’s so wet! I’m shocked.

“Are you left-handed?” he asks. 

“No,” I say.

“Ambidextrous?” Konoe asks, insistent. He looks at both my hands. “You use both for fighting.”

“I do hold blades in both hands, yes.”

“Scary,” he says, trying to smile, still blushing fiercely, almost as if talking about what hands I use to hold my swords will detract from the lewdness of what he has just been doing. It's not working for me, though.

“Your tongue has a completely different texture than mine,” I say frankly. “Maybe because of your environment, probably because of the texture of your fur. Let me dry it for you.”

“When you groom it, you can dry it?” Konoe asks, now willingly turning around in my arms, but I see him squeezing his eyes closed tightly, likely afraid of me licking his ear. I personally can’t wait to get my tongue touching those batwings of his. And after that—I’ll be doing his tail, too. 

“You’ll find out,” I whisper softly, gently running my tongue along the plush, inky fur. The skin of his ear is super thin—probably it’s easy to turn inside out, which I haven’t done to my own ears since I was a kitten. It’s incredibly soft—softer than my own fur, which has a silky texture. Konoe’s is more downy, very plush—like I’d expect a short-haired kitten to have. I wonder if he originally had white or light brown fur.

As I’m grooming him, taking long, straight strokes with my tongue, I’ve wrapped my arms around his chest, and I can feel his body shiver beneath my fingers. I rather enjoy the sensation.

The old man nagged me about grooming as aftercare—a good sex partner will do this for “sensitive” partners—but also on a cold winter’s night, it can set the mood. But I’ve never done this before—I’ve never cared about it enough. Now, I care, and this is not just to “dry his fur.” I might actually have to admit my ulterior motives soon. I don’t have my heart set on anything, but the noises he’s working so hard to suppress are awfully cute.

And they are turning me on something fierce! 

I had no idea grooming could be so damned sexy! Fuck. I lick all along the outside of his ear and then allow my tongue to slip inside as well, grooming the even softer fur inside, watching with some amount of satisfaction as his slender shoulder lifts up in defense of my subtle attack. 

“W-wait, uh,” he whispers quietly. “J-just a second...” 

“You are cold here, too. Let’s warm you up just a bit,” I murmur softly, realizing I am purring really loudly, and there is no hiding my own arousal at this point. I sure hope I don’t frighten the poor kitten to death. 

I hold him down just a little to get both of the insides of his ears just the way I want—and he smells so amazing when I groom him there—his scent changes slightly when I shift him around like that. I make sure not to neglect the outside of his other ear, and tend to it just as thoroughly, during which he relaxes completely, purring with satisfaction.

His purr is ridiculously loud and wet—especially for a cat of his size. I love it—and like his voice, it seems to affect me strangely. While I am basking in his scent and the sound of his purr, and while he is relaxing, I dive under the blanket and capture his completely relaxed tail, pinning him on his belly. 

“Oy!” he protests in surprise, but he doesn’t sound afraid. “What are you—?” 

“Your fur,” I remind him. “I’m drying your fur. You’re warming up, aren’t you?”

“Uh, hmm,” he mumbles softly, not even protesting anymore, and his tail bristles widely, as I groom it gently from base to tip. It quivers under my touch—as does the rest of his body, which I keep covered with my own—and he starts to sweat. I realize that is why his scent has become so much stronger. His scent is making me just a little crazy.

I watch his toes curl into the blanket as I lick the tip of his tail—and sweet, soft sighs that are no longer suppressed leak from his mouth. It sounds like music to my ears. He has a beautiful voice.

“P-please—” I hear his voice begging from under the blanket.

“Are you all right?” I ask, coming up for air. “Are you getting warmer?”

“I-I’m not sure th-this is okay...”

“Expending a little energy is a great way to warm up,” I murmur, and I come up to meet his eyes—looking to get his consent. Instead, both hands grab my hair—harder than I expect—pulling almost violently, which I could definitely get into—and he pulls my lips to meet his. His tongue delves into my mouth—soft and sweet, silky and delicate—but surprisingly aggressive. I feel him explore my mouth, brushing against the tips of my fangs, rubbing against the rougher surface of my tongue. He tastes like honey—and a little like kuim, sweet and sour. I haven’t had an experience quite like this—at least, not this kind of passionate kissing outside of mating season before.

He roughly pulls my hair and then runs his fingers through it gently, almost apologetically, purring and sighing, and then he presses his body, now sweating and most definitely aroused, flush against mine. He is definitely eager. 

“What do you want?” I breathe softly. I haven’t felt so aroused in a long, long time. “I can pleasure you with my mouth, my hand, or we can go a little further.” 

“F-further?” Gods, that sweet stammering makes me want to take him without his consent—but I don’t have any way to gauge his level of experience. He’s probably gone through heat at least once—but Karou may be a backwater village in which same-sex relationships are still seen as inappropriate. Plus, I’ve only fucked one other male before, and I know what it entails. I know it can hurt if you’re being taken when not in heat. But the questioning look, even as dark as his eyes are—his pupils blown wide—says even more than his words, “Further how?” 

“Do you want me to make love to you?” I ask, possibly not quite a fair question, as I’m currently skimming my hands over his slender body.

My offer hangs in the air, his blushing cheeks giving his utter innocence away. 

“I-I w-wouldn’t e-even kn-now wh-what that is,” he confesses, also fetchingly—adorably.

“You don’t need to,” I assure him. “I will do everything. If I do anything you dislike, you can simply tell me to stop and I will. Although—there is one thing we might do that may cause discomfort at first—because you are new and there is a small difference in our statures. But I can prepare you. And once we get going, not only will it warm you up, you will feel unbelievable pleasure.” I feel pretty confident, for I too am motivated. “But if you dislike it, I will stop.”

There is a brief pause, during which I’m sure he will decline, but instead, he searches my face.

“O-okay,” he replies with wide eyes.

His assent sends a small shiver down my back and bristles my fur, and blows his pupils even wider.

“You’ve had your first heat, at least, right?” I ask, just to confirm.

“H-heat?”

I look nearly as confused as he does. 

“Don’t they teach you about the mating season in Karou?” I ask. “Perhaps your parents taught you? About six weeks ago, and then six months before that?”

“I’ve heard of mating season,” Konoe says, “but my mother passed when I was very young and I was alone afterward. The villagers ignored me. Six weeks ago I came down with something I thought was the flu—but, um...”

“Something else entirely fixed it?” I ask. “No one thought to teach you these things? That village is not worth your time! What kind of village neglects its young?”

“I’m a cursed cat,” Konoe says. “Are you sure you wish to, er, connect with me this way?” 

“I am very sure,” I reply. “I’m fairly certain curses are not spread this way.”

“So—will you use your hand or your mouth or go, um, further?” 

“I think the answer to your question is yes,” I reply. “I’d like to make it so you can’t even speak.”

His giant ears flatten for a moment, I think in fear—but he may expect me to gag him. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whisper again, and I kiss his mouth again—softly this time—then kiss his chin, and start licking along his throat. Goosebumps shiver across his ivory skin wherever I touch him, and I drop my mouth lower on his chest, taking a nipple in my mouth. 

He gasps out loud—a surprised sound—but it’s vocal and seriously vulgar-sounding for such a little thing. I smile in spite of myself and look up at him, and he shoves a hand in front of his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” I purr softly.

“What? But—” he’s obviously embarrassed.

“You’re supposed to make noise. How else will I know what you enjoy? Unless you want to say so specifically?”

“I-I couldn’t possibly—” 

I gently pull his hand away from his mouth.

“Then let me hear your voice.” I spend some time licking his chest—his nipples are nicely pink when I’m done—since he seems to enjoy the touch. I feel his hands tentatively playing in my hair and stroking my ears. Before he gets too comfortable, however, I let one hand slide down his back toward the base of his tail, which I grasp and begin to massage firmly, and the other slides over his groin.

The first time my hand passes over his unclothed groin, his hips twitch eagerly—his ears twitch and his tail bristles. And a delightful moan passes through his lips, the likes of which I have never heard. The sound of it sinks into my ears—it feels like a physical touch—and reaches my very soul, making my heart skip a beat and thump in my chest.

What _is_ this cat?

Now, I teasingly palm his cock—which is already hard and dripping—and I feel his hips bucking underneath me. If he’s this excited and I’ve only just touched him, I should go slowly, however, so I gently take his dick in my hand, slowly and deliberately wrapping each finger around it, and then press my thumb into the tip.

Alarming amounts of fluid flow from the tip, and I use it to lubricate the motion of my hand, and a small keening cry comes from the cat beneath me. I recognize a word—he softly calls my name as his thighs press together, “Rai...” 

Gods, he’s cute—and hearing my name from his lips excites me even more. Perhaps we can move along a little faster.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” I ask. He’s so adorably worked up—I kind of want to see how far I might push him.

“Huh? Y-your m-mouth?” He sounds confused, but when he sees me shifting, he starts to struggle. “W-w-wait!” 

“You haven’t tried it, yet,” I say, hovering over him, still stroking his tail, and teasingly, I drop a kiss on the tip of his dick. He actually _meows_ in response. I can’t suppress a chuckle. So instead of licking his shaft, as I’d originally planned, I plant hot kisses on his hipbones, licking him there, licking his inner thighs till they fall open in helpless submission, and then lick his belly and groom the fur just below. It’s a downy, super-fine white blonde, to my surprise. Perhaps his original color. 

He’s just about growling when I reach the base of his shaft and start licking, his eyes flying open, and he gasps in pleasure when I take all of him in my mouth at once. I swallow him up, sucking hard several times, then lighten the pressure and swirl around the tip with my tongue, leaving him nearly delirious.

“Oh, my gods!” he cries out—not at all innocently. As I’m swirling around the tip, I press into him with my tongue and a whole lot more fluid comes out, which I collect in my hand. This hand sneaks around to his backside, and I paint over his entrance, just beneath his tail. He shivers beautifully, but I think I hear a protest.

I increase suction again, and press a finger around that tight ring of muscle—and increase suction a little more.

“Haahh...” comes a small noise, tickling my ears, the moment I press inside. His knees bend in surprise, however.

I pause my attention on his dick for a moment.

“Does it hurt?”

“N-no,” but I feel him shivering.

“Are you afraid?”

“I-I felt you when you were grooming me,” he says softly. He is afraid—so afraid he can barely hold back the tears. “Difference in stature is a nice way to put it,” he says wryly.

“I’ll do my best for you,” I murmur. “You don’t have to be afraid. While I’m finding you rather hard to resist, I will stop if you ask me to.” I realize, however, that I may be making a promise I can’t keep in fact—did I just now keep going when he asked me to wait or slow down? Guilt stabs my chest when I see those eyes brimming with tears, looking up at me from the floor.

Golden eyes meet mine again—golden hair splayed out around him like a halo—angelic is the perfect word for his innocent appearance—and I lick his belly while meeting his eyes. It tickles him, unexpectedly. I take the perfect opportunity to add another finger and stroke his dick with my other hand. My fingers slide in easily, and his cheeks blush so prettily.

“Shall we continue?”

“Okay,” Konoe whispers softly, his voice hoarse. 

I pay special attention to the outer ring of muscle now, widening it, stretching it, pulling it apart with my fingers, and also making sure to ease him off when he gets overly excited. He seems to be particularly sensitive on the outside, and can’t suppress the sounds as I scissor apart my fingers or hook them on the outside rim, his eyes popping open sweetly. A few times I catch him trying to cover his mouth with his hands—clearly embarrassed with the sounds that he’s making—I’ve really never seen anything quite so cute.

Even with both hands currently occupied, I find he’s quite the perfect size for me. I can still lean down and take his lips, letting him murmur, purr, gasp, and sigh right into my mouth. He clings to me almost desperately. 

“Ah—Rai,” he sighs when our lips part. His hands wander through my hair again. “I can’t—”

My heart melts a little when I hear him so desperate. 

“We need to take our time—I want to spare you as much discomfort as possible,” I whisper—directly in his ear. 

“I’ll be fine,” Konoe begs—and that pleading voice tempts me. I scoop up more of that transparent fluid leaking from his heat and bring it around to my other hand, adding a third finger. If he’s never done this before—even in season—it’s the very least I can do. I’ve never done this with a male who wasn’t in season.

“Just have a little patience.”

“It’s—ah—never been—ah—my strong suit,” he murmurs softly, then glances up at me again. The markings on his wrists look bewitching in the low light of the fire, appearing to writhe over the surface of his skin.

That should be enough, I think—as soon as I can easily spread all three of my fingers apart inside of him. 

“Penetration is usually the most difficult part. But you adjusted quickly to my fingers, so I’m sure you will adjust quickly to—”

His ears flatten suddenly.

“The rest of you?” he interrupts.

“Try to keep your body relaxed. I will help you.”

“Help me relax?” he echoes—a strange conversational method, perhaps unique to Karou, or unique to this cat in particular. It sounds very youthful.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask, removing my hands from his body completely. 

He pauses a moment, catching his breath.

“Yes. It’s not like I can change my mind now,” he smiles softly. “And I trust you.”

I quirk up an eyebrow at his remark. 

“Now, just relax your body as much as possible,” I say. Spreading his thighs apart and then pressing them against his chest, I kiss both his ankles as I arrange his body how I want him, enjoying his flustered reaction. Also, I take a moment to look at his toes. I checked them thoroughly when I undressed him earlier, but I want to be sure I didn’t miss any frostbite. 

I am certain I want him on his back, though the hardness of the floor is slightly concerning. I want to be able to see his adorable face as he comes undone. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath—which is interrupted the moment he feels me align my cock with his entrance, opening his eyes wide.

“You feel so hot,” he sighs in that gentle voice of his. 

“Just relax,” I encourage him. “I’ll go very slowly.” 

It becomes quite obvious, quite soon that I’m hurting him—or at least causing quite a bit of discomfort. 

“Shh—it’s all right—take deep breaths,” I speak to him soothingly, though I’m worried. “Do you want me to stop?”

His golden hair shakes back and forth in the firelight, his giant ears standing out in dark contrast.

“N-no, p-please—keep going,” he pants. He is trying awfully hard for my sake.

“There’s no need to push yourself,” I say, and I stop moving for a moment. Just to remind him why we are doing this, I stimulate his tail and slightly softening cock again—surprised at how hard he still is, in fact—and sounds of confused pleasure spill from his lips immediately. His voice makes my body tremble. He feels so good inside: warm, soft, and willing.

“P-Please,” he says. “I-I _want_ to do this—and w-with you.”

“And we _are_ ,” I assure him gently, “there’s no need to rush.” 

His tense, compact body starts to relax under my fingers, and only then do I resume pressing inside him. His insides surround me completely—not just surrounding my dick—and his arms come up and wrap around my shoulders and can’t reach, so they loop around my neck instead.

He looks so very beautiful—delicate yet masculine, youthful and proud—completely at my mercy and he knows it. My heart thumps painfully in my chest, pounding loudly in my ears. 

Finally, I’m completely submerged in his body, and I feel my thighs touching his warm and slightly sweaty skin. I back up slightly, peering at his face—a few tears have slipped down his cheeks, and I lick them, giving him some time to adjust. 

He moves his upper torso underneath my weight—and just that small movement sends a wave of unimaginable pleasure up my spine. The fur on my tail fluffs out broadly, and I feel it swaying behind me slowly—back and forth—and his eyes are drawn to it.

“Your fur is so pretty,” he whispers softly—and I’m taken aback by his directness. I feel my fangs poking over the top of my lip as I smile.

“So is yours,” I say, and I run my hands through the soft fur on his ears—now meticulously groomed—and along his slender body—he is surprisingly muscular for his size. He trembles as I touch him—tracing the line of his body, his waist—which is quite trim, especially when compared with his hips, which are delightfully curvy. I think it’s part of what makes his shape so powerfully attractive to me. 

“You don’t seem to mind that I’m not a female?” 

“What?” His words shock me, and I glance up at his face to see if he’s teasing. But he won’t meet my eyes—his ears drooping slightly, as though he is embarrassed for asking, his cheeks flushing hotly. 

“Or do you find me feminine?”

“Not in the least,” I respond immediately, with the conviction I feel. “I do find you exceedingly attractive, however.”

That brings his gaze back to mine.

“Male or female—it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that I feel desire for my partner. You fulfill that requirement.”

“It’s not simply because I am here? And you are, um, in the mood?” 

I chuckle slightly. 

“Truthfully, I haven’t done this very often outside of the mating season,” I confess—suddenly surprised again that this kitten has forced yet another confession from me without my consent. The kitten looks shocked by my confession. “What?” I ask.

“N-nothing. It just seems like you could have your pick of any cat—any time you wanted.” 

Wow. It feels nice to hear those words from those plush lips and his sweet voice—especially with my dick sunk deep inside him so snugly. I caress him once more, from the tips of his ears—which are warm—to the tip of his tail. I spend some extra time on his thighs. While muscular, they still have a surprising amount of softness to them.

“Why would I want ‘any cat’ when I could have you?”

My words deepen his blush. 

“I-I’m cursed,” he says, looking down again before meeting my gaze. “I was chased from my village—the only place I’d ever known. They threw rocks at me. Why are you being so kind?” 

“It’s not kindness,” I explain. “It’s desire.” 

He blushes again. Gods, he’s _cute_!

“May I move?” 

“Um, okay. Wh-what should I do?” 

“Just stay relaxed—and let me know what feels the best.” 

I move my hips back and forth, slowly at first—looking for the place I think he will feel it the most, and he flinches slightly. I keep my hands moving on both his tail and his dick, and that helps. I change my angle a little each time, watching his face, which softens with each thrust. This seems to be getting easier for him, so I add a little more power, and he doesn’t seem to mind. 

 _There_ _it_ _is_ —when I hear his voice wheeze and see his eyes widen in astonishment.

“What was that?!” 

I repeat the movement—slowly at first—and he gasps and wheezes, his claws drawing against the unprotected skin of my chest. I don’t mind so much—not if he feels it so strongly. Also, his fangs bare over his lips, and his eyes darken.

“That’s what I was looking for,” I whisper, directly into his ear, and I follow my words with a rather wet lick. I’m salivating—hoping to hear more of that beautiful voice.

He’s definitely not quiet—and I enjoy his voice so much that I speed up my pace quickly.

“Ah—I’m scr-scratching you—Ah!” 

“It’s all right,” I whisper again, and I take his lips, and he accidentally bites me—which does nothing but inflame my desire. His insides clench around me each time brush past that spot—and I deliberately press against it on my way inside and out.

I grasp the tip of his hooked tail and massage it, pinching it between my fingers, and he starts to come completely undone. My other hand cups his dick, which is leaking constantly, providing for smooth lubrication—and I allow my ears the enjoyment of his voice—giving me the illusion that he is the one fucking me.

“Rai—Ah—I can’t— _please_ ,” he begs again—so sweetly. It makes my skin shiver. 

“Come whenever you like,” I encourage him, and then I take his lips. 

He hums and sighs, and I hear him cry out, directly into my mouth, right as I feel him spilling over, hot sticky liquid into the palm of my hand. I’m not far behind him—as his body tremors excite me, his insides clamp down around me, and that voice—his fangs catching on my bottom lip—everything about this cat just feels right—and I allow myself release as well.

I confess I’m not quiet either, and I feel him jerk slightly when I spill inside of him. It must be a strange feeling—and he squirms slightly beneath me—but he returns my kiss, wrapping his arms around my neck, kissing my mouth and my lips gently. Pleasure spills throughout my body with my climax as I’m surrounded by his warm scent, his inviting and now supple body, my ears still filled with the sound of his soft, delighted sighs and excessive purr.

I grab a towel when I pull out of him—careful not to squash him with my heavy weight against the unyielding floor. I’d love to take him on a more yielding surface, like my bed at home, as the images flash before my eyes, I imagine all the ways I’d pleasure him and my fur bristles—and I say so—just the part about taking him on a bed next time—as I carefully wipe him down.

He makes a rather indignant sound, but he is pleased—and relaxed—and warm. He permits me to pull him up against my chest, our bellies facing with his back toward the fire. “Is your home more than a day away?”

A small and very delayed gasp of surprise comes out of my mouth when I finally catch his meaning—my mind is slightly blurry with desire and pleasure. So he will come with me, then? 

“How are you feeling?” I intend to ask about his warmth and comfort, examining his fingers, which looked like they were suffering from frostbite earlier but seem to be doing much better. They are surprisingly slender. He probably took only what he could grab in ashort time—this poor sweet kitten, traveling alone. I notice a curved blade and a small pack in the corner.

“That was amazing,” he says, and to my surprise, he flashes his eyes up at me, dark lashes blinking sleepily.

“While I’m very glad to hear that,” I say, licking his fingertips again, “I was actually asking about the physical state of your body.”

“Oh, it hurt a little first, but you were right—it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before, and certainly better than what I did on my own—”

I laugh softly. 

“I’m glad.” I nudge my nose against his gently and then try one more time. “Are you _warm_ enough? Do any of your toes or fingers hurt?”

“Oh— _oh_!” He is even more embarrassed now. “I feel fine. Just a little tired.”

“Hungry or thirsty?”

“No—and um, thank you for your care. I really don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” His pretty long lashes flutter softly as he glances up at me shyly. 

“Why don’t you sleep then?” I suggest, and I have the urge to groom his ears—and I indulge it freely. I stick to the outer shell, for the most part, using long, gentle strokes with my tongue.

His breath evens out quickly, but his purr never stops. He purrs even in his sleep. It takes a little longer for me, though I’m spent, too. I’m distracted by the lovely fur in front of me. With all sincerity, I hope he was serious about taking me up on my offer to visit the old man’s. He could use some hearty, home-cooked meals. And I really do want to share my bed with him. He just fits so well right here in my arms. 

It’s the last thing on my mind. I fall asleep with the tip of his ear in my mouth.


End file.
